


You Were There

by Shippershape



Series: Stretch & Dr. Goodkin [11]
Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: F/M, Not too dark, Sexual assualt, not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 12:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4624929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shippershape/pseuds/Shippershape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, Cameron asked Kirsten to really trust him. It turns out she does, and his name is the only one that comes to mind when she really needs help. A night out goes wrong, a drink isn't just a drink, and Cameron is there, even when he's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Were There

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to give a quick heads up that there is mention of sexual assault in this story. I think I've kept it less graphic, and Kirsten makes it out okay, but I understand that even attempted sexual assault can be a trigger for people.

“Hey Blondie.” A tall blonde with a beard drops onto the seat beside Kirsten, leering. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She ignores him. Men in bars are sloppy and rude, and she’s never had a conversation that began with ‘Hey Blondie’ that didn’t end badly. So she ignores him.

“What, you’re not going to talk to me?” The smile drops off his face. Kirsten knows because she can see his reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar top. “You think you’re too good for me?” He leans in closer, and he smells like cheap whiskey, the kind you inevitably sweat out in the office Monday morning after drinking Sunday night. She tries to lean away, but he goes with her.

“I’m here with someone.” She tries, because it’s generally a much more effective rejection than ‘I’m not interested’. He huffs out a breath, and the smell is suffocating.

“Oh yeah? Where’s he at?” His voice is loud, too loud, and his words are slurred. This is a man well into the bottle. That doesn’t bode well for her. She points at her table, where Camille and Linus are bickering. Cameron has escaped and is browsing through the jukebox. The man beside her snorts. “They aren’t missing you. Why don’t you ditch the nerds and come home with me?” He’s edged even closer, somehow, in the seconds that she had turned to look at her friends. They’re almost touching. 

“I don’t think so.” She says. Finally, the bartender comes back, dropping the round of drinks she ordered in front of her.

“Thirty-six bucks.” He tells her. She drops the money on the counter, and the bartender eyes her newfound company. “You okay over here?”

Kirsten forces a smile.

“I’m fine, thank you.” She grabs the tray and turns to leave, but an arm snakes out, wrapping around her waist.

“Come on, darlin. I’m not through with you.” He smirks, whiskey breath swirling around her face. Deciding that is entirely enough of that, Kirsten grabs Camille’s vodka tonic off the tray, and pours it over his head. He lets go of her immediately, spluttering as the drink drips down his face.

“Oh, I think we’re through.” Kirsten says, leaning back to drop the now empty glass on the bar. When she walks away this time he lets her, but it doesn’t stop him from hurling insults at her back.

“Bitch.” He snarls. She shrugs.

At the table, Camille looks over the tray of drinks with a frown.

“Where’s my vodka tonic?”

Kirsten glances back at the bar, the bearded man still dabbing at his shirt with a napkin.

“He’s wearing it.” She says. Camille follows her eyeline, then sighs.

“Oh, honey.”

Cameron chooses that moment to return, having thoroughly exhausted all his loose change for the night.

“What’s up?” He asks, watching Kirsten and Camille sneak glances at the bar.

“Kirsten dumped my drink on a handsy lumberjack.” Camille says. Cameron’s head swivels immediately to Kirsten, concern written all over his face.

“What?”

“It’s fine.” Hoping this won’t become a thing, she glances back at the bar. The lumber jack is gone. “I’m going to go get Camille another drink.”

“I’m going with you.” Cameron offers immediately, jogging to catch up as she marches away. He bumps her shoulder as they walk. “You sure you’re okay, Stretch?”

“You know me.” She shrugs. “I’m already over it.” He looks skeptical. As they come up to the bar, the bartender slides over to greet them.

“Hey.” He nods at Kirsten.

“Hi.”

Cameron glances between the two of them curiously.

“Another vodka tonic?” The bartender asks, lip twitching. She sighs.

“You saw that?” He just hums in response and busies himself making the drink. Kirsten turns back to Cameron. He’s surveying the room. “What are you doing?”

“Who was it?” He asks, eyeing a slick looking brunette in an oxford and slacks.

“Not him.” She murmurs, amused. “He’s gone.”

They’re distracted when the bartender, Roy according to his nametag, slides two drinks towards her.

“Here.”

Kirsten frowns.

“I only wanted a vodka tonic.”

Roy grins.

“I figured you could probably use a drink too. These are on the house.” He’s smiling at her, and Kirsten knows it’s more than a friendly smile. Cameron knows it too if the irritation coming off of him in waves is any indication.

“It’s not whiskey, is it?” She asks, flashing back to the hot breath on her face earlier. Roy shakes his head. He’s attractive, she realizes objectively. Tall and broad, with deep brown eyes and a cheeky smile.

“No.”

She takes the drinks, smiling politely at him.

“Well, thanks Roy.” Cameron says, stepping in beside her. Roy pauses, clearly feeling out the pair in front of him. He clears his throat.

“No problem.” His gaze flicks back to Kirsten. “Always happy to help a pretty girl.” She cringes internally, the nice moment ruined. It’s too soon after lumberjack guy for her to have any interest in being hit on. Cameron obviously picks up on that, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

“Let’s go.” He steers her back to the table. She sits down, setting Camille’s drink down on the table before throwing her own back in one gulp. Linus makes a noise of surprise.

“Woah. Kirsten’s in a party mood.” She glares at him. Camille takes a sip of her drink, then grabs Kirsten’s hand.

“In that case, let’s dance.” She leads the blonde out onto the dance floor, a late 90’s pop hit blasting from the speakers hooked up to the jukebox. They dance through three or four of those songs, Kirsten stops resisting after the first. Halfway through something Johnny Cash, her head begins to spin. She drops Camille’s hands, drifting back towards their table.

“What’s up Britney?” Cameron asks as she slides into the chair next to him. She glares at him.

“I don’t like Johnny Cash.” She says. It’s a lie. She feels sweaty and dizzy, and all she’s had was a beer and whatever it was the bartender gave her. She shouldn’t be feeling like this. She sits very still, watching as Camille dances. Eventually, her friend makes it back to the table, eyes on Linus. She whispers something in his ear, and his eyes widen. He stands up so quickly the chair almost topples over.

“We’re going to go.” He says, snatching his jacket off the table. “You guys are good right?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, practically dragging a giggling Camille towards the door. Cameron turns to her, eyebrow raised.

“I wonder where they’re going.” He mutters sarcastically. She blinks, the words taking a moment to register.

“I’m going to get some water.” She says, hearing the slur in her own words. Cursing herself for not eating before they came out, she pushes herself to her feet. Wobbling a little, she turns toward the bar. She hears Cameron jump to his feet behind her.

“Woah there.” His arm goes around her waist, steadying her. “How much have you had, drinky?” She swats at him, but he doesn’t drop his hold on her as they walk.

“Um.” She frowns. “Just two.” The room spins as they came to a sudden stop.

“Two? Are you sure?” Cameron’s face is swimming in front of hers, and she nods.

“Yes.” They’re at the bar now, and he sets her down on a barstool as he flags over the bartender.

“Hey, Roy. Can we get some water?” Roy takes one look at Kirsten and nods, filling up a glass and sliding it over.

“Is she okay?” He asks, his concern a mirror of Cameron’s.

“She’s fine.” Cameron says, turning his back to Roy. He focuses on Kirsten, holding up the glass of water. “Here, drink this.” She takes it, sipping slowly.

“Cameron.” She says, hating the way her voice sounds. Her usual confidence is gone, replaced by a vulnerability that makes her decidedly uncomfortable.

“Yeah, Stretch?” He’s looking at her the way he usually only does when she isn’t looking. Like she’s the only thing he can see. It makes her shiver.

“Who’s watching our stuff?” She asks His eyes widen, and he glances back at their table in surprise.

“Shit. Okay, hold on.” He waves Roy over. “Can you just watch her for a second? I need to get our stuff.” Roy nods, and then Cameron is gone.

“You sure you’re okay?” Roy asks, looking her over. Kirsten rubs her eyes tiredly.

“No.” She admits. “I think…something is wrong.” His eyebrows shoot up.

“Why didn’t you tell your boyfriend that?”

“He’s not…my boyfriend. I don’t… want him to worry.” She struggles to get the words out. It’s getting more and more difficult to concentrate. Everything is swimming, like a blur of lights under water.

“Hmm.” Roy looks over at Cameron, then back at Kirsten. “Alright. Let’s get you some fresh air.” He walks around the bar, then lifts her off her seat.

“Shouldn’t you….shouldn’t you….” She trails off, just pointing at the bar. He shakes his head.

“Tony can handle it for now.” He leads her out the door, and the cool night air feels nice against her face, but it doesn’t do anything the stop the spinning. Or the fog.

“Roy.” She mumbles. They’re still walking. Where are they going? “Where’s Cameron?” She feels the arm around her waist tighten.

“Don’t worry, hon. It’s going to be fine.” Kirsten squints into the dark. They’re in an alley, the one behind the bar. She knows because she can still hear the music, muffled through the layer of concrete. Suddenly her back is pressed up against that concrete, Roy’s fingers digging into her hip.

“Wha-” Her question is cut off as he mashes his lips against hers, teeth scraping together in his insistence. She tries to push him off, but her arms feel weak and not entirely there, and he pins them above her head, holding both wrists with one hand. He breaks away to drag his teeth across her neck, and she gasps.

“Stop. You don’t…know who…I…am…” She slurs, still trying to press him off of her.

“I don’t care who you are.” He tells her, hand slipping under her shirt.

“CAMERON!” She screams, but it’s stupid, and useless, and still the only word she can find. He can’t hear her, and he isn’t Fisher, even if he were here he couldn’t take down someone twice his size. “Get off me!” She tries to remember what Fisher taught her, the don’t-get-abducted-the-government-needs-you training he’d given her. But it occurs to her that none of those moves work best when you’re pumped full of drugs and alcohol, and whatever Roy had given her had certainly contained both. Suddenly he’s gone, the fingers are gone, and his teeth are gone and the air rushes in as she slides down the wall, landing in a heap on the ground. She blinks in the dim light, an unmoving black figure on the ground a few feet away. There’s something else, a familiar sound, something that makes the clawing in her stomach settle down. But her vision is starting to go black, darkness creeping around the edges, and everything is gone just like that.

 

Kirsten wakes up, and for the first time, imagines she might know what death feels like. Her head is screaming, like it’s caught in a vice, her stomach churning as she rolls over and squeezes her eyes shut. She lets out a long moan, the kind with no other purpose than to momentarily distract yourself from the pain you feel, and jumps when she felt a hand on her hip. Her eyes fly open, chest heaving as she takes in Cameron standing beside the bed, hands up in a gesture of peace. He looks terrible. She frowns, the blue walls enough for her to know she’s in his bed.

“What-” Her voice is scratchy, and even that sends her head into spikes of pain. “Oh god.” She clutches her head. Cameron offers her a couple pills and a glass of water, and she takes them without so much as looking at them. He hovers awkwardly, the expression on his face making her uneasy.

“You, um, you okay, Stretch?” He asks.

“I don’t know.” She presses her fingers to her temple in an effort to press the pain away. It doesn’t work. “What happened?” She asks, sifting through what few memories she has of the night before.

“What do you remember?” His voice is low, nervous.

“I remember…going to the bar. And that douchebag hit on me so I poured a drink on him. And…dancing. And…something about….” She struggles, the memories becoming fragmented and unclear. It reminds her of the stitches she’s done where the sample’s brain has been damaged. “Did someone drug me?” The question startles her as it comes out. Her eyes fly to Cameron, waiting for him to assure her that wasn’t what happened.

“Do you remember the bartender?” Is what he says instead. A blurry face pops into her mind.

“Roy.” She murmurs. Her pulse picks up, like her body remembers something she doesn’t. “Cameron…”

“I left you with him to go clear off our table, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have left you-” He mumbles, not looking her in the eye. She reaches out, grabbing one of his hands. It feels unusually hot, and she tugs on his arm until he’s sitting on the bed next to her. She turns his hand over in hers, and gasps at the damage she sees, raw bloody knuckles and purple blossoming across the back of his hand.

“ _Cameron_.” She says. Suddenly a memory takes hold, a scream, her scream.

_CAMERON!_

Her mouth falls open. She remembers feeling fear, a white hot knife of it, wanting him there, needing him.

_Cameron, wake up! Don’t do this. Cameron. CAMERON!_

Her mind is hazy. It’s a different memory now, a different time. Fear, again, this time for him. She doesn’t realize her hands are shaking until he squeezes them between his.

“Kirsten?”

She blinks, and she’s back in his room, in his bed.

“What happened when you left?” She asks, needing to know. She doesn’t have all the pieces, and the ones she has don’t make sense on their own.

“When I came back you were gone. I asked a girl sitting at the bar if she’d seen you, and she said you went outside with the bartender. I was out front and I heard you-” He closes his eyes, like the memory is painful. “-screaming my name. You were in the alley, Roy had you-” he makes a vague gesture with his hands. She feels cold.

“He had me what?”

“Pinned against the wall. He didn’t hear me coming. I hit him over the head with a piece of pipe.”

Kirsten runs her fingers gently over his ruined hand.

“Then what’s this?” She asks. He cringes.

“He…didn’t exactly go down the first time. I mean he wasn’t going anywhere, but he’d, um had his hands all-” He makes the same gesture and she begins to understand what he means. “And I was really angry? I don’t know, I’ve never felt like that before.” He finishes. It’s not much of an explanation, really, but she understands anyways. Despite the pain, she lays her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you.” She says, closing her eyes. She knows enough now. She’s tired, and she feels like she drank half the bar last night, but she’s alright.

“I shouldn’t have left you.” He whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Her hand settles on his chest, splayed over his heart.

“You were there.” She says simply. “When I needed you, you were there.”

“I’ll always be there, Stretch.” Cameron mumbles, voice gruff. Her fingers curl, fisting in his shirt.

“I love you, Cameron Goodkin.” She says, opening her eyes. His mouth falls open, and he stares back at her.

“What?”

“I love you, and there will be a time when we can talk about that, but right now my head hurts too much.” She tells him. He closes his mouth, then opens it again. He repeats that a few times before nodding his head.

“Okay.” He finally says.

They stare at each other for a moment.

“So, what now?” He asks. She pulls back the covers, and pats the mattress beside her.

“Now, we sleep.” She climbs back under the sheets, shifting over to make room for him. He hesitates, then tugs off his jeans, sliding in bed next to her. She starts to drift off again, soothed by the feeling of his playing with her hair.

“Kirsten.” He says. A feeling from the night before comes rushing back, the feeling of knowing it was going to be okay, that familiar sound she couldn’t identify. It was this. It was her name, his voice.

“Mhmm.” She mumbles.

“I love you.”

She smiles into the pillow.

“I know.”

 

Later, Camille comes barging into Cameron’s apartment. She barely stops to ogle the couple in bed before launching into a story about how Fisher almost lost his badge for beating a suspect black and blue. She leaves, but only after making a few lewd comments about Cameron’s Batman boxers. While he’s making breakfast, frittatas, Kirsten watches him thoughtfully.

“You called Fisher, didn’t you?” She asks. He nods, pushing his glasses up as he reads the recipe on his phone. “And it was him, the one Fisher beat up? That was Roy?” Cameron set the phone down with a sigh, looking at her.

“Probably. You’re pretty important to him.”

She thinks about that.

“You’re important to me.” She says, like it suddenly occurs to her that he might not know that. His face lights up, and she’ll remember that because she would say anything if it meant he would look at her like that. He leans over the counter to press a kiss to the top of her head. She has a feeling he’s taking things slow because of everything that happened the night before. In case she’s not ready. She loves him all the more for it.

“You’re the most important person in my life.” He tells her. “You’re the only family I’ve got, Stretch.” He doesn’t talk about his parents, but she knows enough. That’s something she never thought she’d have again, never thought she wanted.

“Family.” She murmurs. She likes the sounds of that.

 

 

 

 


End file.
